


The Ghost

by Celebrusc



Series: The Prince and the Rogue [12]
Category: Power Rangers
Genre: A collection of shorts, Gen, probably wont make sense without at least the first fic in the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrusc/pseuds/Celebrusc
Summary: There is more than one way to fight a war. It takes Jason a long time to remember that, Billy not so much.OrThere is a difference between a rebellion, and a resistance. Empires have fallen by the betrayal of one person, but you can't betray an enemy.





	1. Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> It may be short, but this 'verse aint dead yet.  
> A collection of Snippets looking at what Billy is up to.

The first time Jason had seen him, he hadn’t known it at the time. Just a flicker of blue tinged grey in the back ground as bombs shredded the world around him.

The second time, that same flicker in the background, as they meet the delivery they weren’t sure was even real. Just whispers on a grape vine. Ghosts in the night.

The third time, well he should have known then. When hands clad in dark blue leather snapped chains and locks before disappearing like a shade at dawn.

The first time he _knew_ , he still hadn’t _known_ , and he should have. The hand that grabbed his, and hauled him through a maze choked with ash and dust and the screams of the dying. A flare of Power, centering, and anchoring, bringing him home. Giving him strength. He’d stood there and screamed at one of his oldest friends. Demanded to know the play, blamed him for the blood that coated all of their hands. Raged against the Alliance, even as Billy had stood in calm silence, and led him and his people to a medical facility. Filled with the sort of medicine they had never dreamed to see.

Don’t question, Billy had said, when Jason had finally fallen silent. Don’t judge. You have more allies than you realise. More enemies than you know. He’d finally looked at the crates then. The weapons that would pierce through the weaknesses of the Alliance, the defensive shields. Devices designed to mask and hide. Alliance tech, Ranger tech. Designs he remembered from days filled with sun and pop and comic books bought with pennies made from cutting grass and running errands. From before.

There is more than one way to win a war. Billy had said, calmly, even as Jason blushed in shame. He thinks so like you. More than one way to fight. Betrayal has brought the greatest of Empires crashing down, but betrayal can’t come from enemies. You’re doing the right thing, now let me support you.

It wasn’t until many years later, Jason remembered that no matter how many debates he had won about football plays, he had never beaten Billy at the chess game the discussion had been engaged over.


	2. Treason

The street was narrow, buildings looming close as they reached grasping for the skies so high above. Here you could almost see the surface if you looked over the side walk so deep we are into the city’s bowels. The darkness stalked along the passages like a monster in a child’s tale. Dominating and suffocating every crevice. The clatter and thump of moving crates, the splash of weary feet, hung limp upon the air as with hurried hunched movements the drably dressed denizens worked. The final dim light fitting stuttered and died just as torn bleeding fingers wrapped in frayed scraps deposited the last crate onto the speeder.  
It was then that he emerged from the shadows. His long dark grey coat blending so well with the encroaching shadows he may as well have been one. Sure hands gloved in a strong dark blue checked over every strap and buckle of the equipment. The fact that his hood hung over his face, casting it into even truer darkness than that around him did not seem to deter his movements.   
Finally he stepped back and nodded sharply. There was a soft muted call, and the speeders were off. Their precious cargo headed far from these decaying lower levels of the Imperial World they were meeting on. Still, I do not need to see his face to know him. They call him “Ghost”, this man who helps them. Another gave them hope, but this is the person who will gift them with the tools to build their dreams. I had choked the first time I heard it, so close to the “Phantom” we had once, still do, call him. But that had been, still is, a secret as much as this.   
His shielding is impeccable. I do not know how he has masked the bittersweet taste that always settles on my tongue around holders of the Power, nor do I truly care. There is no doubt of his identity.   
“William,”  
“Milleste”, he greets me in turn. Each word carefully pitched so as not to carry, even on this dead air.  
“You risk a great deal doing this.”  
“No more than anyone else,” He dismisses easily, as easily as any Ranger ever accepted a duty. As though committing treason is to be expected, a daily act. For all I know it could be. Part of me wishes to press for more, yet I dare not. The less I know, the safer we are.  
“You stand at the Prince’s side” I hiss instead. “What if he notices?”  
William laughs lightly. “Tommy would forget his head if it were not attached, my friend. And he does not set foot in my lab without invitation. Who will counter my claims that they where stolen in transit? Or that they were destroyed? Who is to know they are my work? After the first time the Rebellion uses those devices I’ll be ‘reverse engineering’ them anyway.”  
“Even so,” I say in response, for though he is right, I cannot help but worry. “You take a huge risk.”   
He turns to me then. “And you don’t? Your brother is a Ranger as enamoured of my White as the rest of the Court. The price if you are caught, the chances of it, are just as high if not even higher.”  
“That doesn’t matter though” I argue, “something needs to be done.”  
“And there is no-one else to do it.” The smile of understanding clear in his words.  
“So we do what we must. “ I take a breath. “Take care, my friend. May the Power protect you.”  
A hmph carried through the stillness, betraying his amusement at my choice of words, even as he disappears back into the darkness he came from like the shade we all call him. The response that was the final sign of his presence held only the sure seriousness only its Guardians ever seemed to manage. “And you”.


	3. The Red Band

It was a little too easy to find his contact, the red band around the woman’s arm a bullseye for anyone who knew to look. The worst bit was, the Rebellion thought they were being subtle. They had no idea what the damned colours symbolised, if they did. Well, things would no doubt be quite different.

Today, dressed in greys more than blues, Billy wasn’t wearing any band. A habit he was encouraging amongst the Resistance. Those he taught, those he encouraged, would be without a leader, without fealty. And so much harder to find as a result.

There wasn’t a Ranger in the ‘verse who wouldn’t ask after the coloured bands that wrapped themselves around Jason’s soldiers. Who wouldn’t end the night very very confused. Billy prefered the simple approach.

He walked across the busy square, commuters, heads down, flowing around him. He pulled up a chair opposite her in the small cafe, leaned back, and smiled. He wore no hood, no mask. Nothing that would raise attention. Instead the small transmitter on his wrist would ensure no image of his presence was retained. Just another ghost in a busy night, a phantom to leave the Guard chasing shadows.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” The woman opposite him asked, well, demanded. “You can’t sit here, I’m waiting for a friend.”

Billy nodded in acknowledgment, “and now I’m here.”

Her eyes flickered to his upper right arm, where that foolish ribbon twisted around hers. A couple of days, and control of the Prince’s Guards, and he could make it so the Rebellion would be a fading memory.

“Really? You don’t look like it.”

He snorted. “Some of us have no desire to wear something we have no right to.”Her mouth audibly snapped shut, confusion in her eyes. “Look, I have the plans you need, you can take them or not, its up to you. Its not my fault you haven’t done you homework.”

She scowled. “And the price?”

“A favour, when I need it.”

“And how should we know its you?”

He shrugged. “Give me a pass phrase, or a code. Its far safer than stolen fealty markers.”

She handed him a scrap of paper after a moments scrutiny, still clearly unhappy. But she obviously had her orders. In return Billy slipped a small drive across the table.

“That should contain what you need. It only has three viewings though, so be careful.”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“I promised you the plans, I didn’t promise you them forever.”

He rose to his feet, and moved to leave. Stopping as he passed his contact to grab her arm over the red promise. “This, I’ll give you for free. I’ll wear the Red the day your commander, when the Rogue, asks me to. Have a good day, miss.”

 

*****

Tartha Skrol lent back in the uncomfortable seat, and watched the weary traffic through the square as she waited for her contact. Slowly sipping at over done caff. Her eyes scanned the crowd constantly searching for the tell tale flash of red that declared their loyalty. So focused was she on finding them, that she missed the approach of the tall human in front of her. Though how she wasn’t sure, because other than the colourless grey, his clothes were far too high quality for this area. He didn’t even ask, just sat himself down in the seat opposite her, leaned back, and smiled.

She did double check, but there wasn’t even a hint of red in his clothing. The only thing resembling a colour at all were bits of grey that were closer to blue.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” she demanded, agitated. Eyes still flicking to the crowd. She couldn’t miss this meeting damn it. “You can’t sit there, I’m waiting for a friend.”

She was about to repeat herself, hoping her accent wasn’t so strong this man couldn’t understand her, when he nodded. “And now I’m here.”

She double checked his right arm, maybe she had missed…nope. Nothing. “You don’t look like it.”

The man had the audacity to snort. “Some of us have no desire to wear something we have no right to.”

Not have the right to? Was he not on their side? It was their symbol of resistance, Red to the Prince’s own White. Why did he sound so, insulted, though. Like he didn’t think she should be wearing it either. How dare he question her loyalty.

“Look,” He continued, ignoring the glare that Tartha was sure was on her face. “I have the plans you need, you can take them or not, its up to you. Its not my fault you haven’t done you homework.”

She hated him, in that moment, she decided. Because damn it all they needed the plans. The compound they showed contained no only vital equipment that had to be destroyed, but also several of her team who had been taken captive. Who knew what they had been going through. She shelved the comment about homework for later. She didn’t have time for riddles

“And the price?” She snapped, because there was no way there wouldn’t be one.

“A favour, when I need it.” _That_ she wasn’t comfortable with. Hadn’t been before and was even less now. He wasn’t loyal to them, to the Rogue. How could they trust he wouldn’t abuse it.

“And how should we know its you?” She asked, hoping that he’d back down. Sure that he wouldn’t. This man had been far to meticulous so far.

“Give me a pass phrase, or a code. Its far safer than stolen fealty markers.” Mentally, she sighed in defeat. Her own cautions about the man, warring with her orders. But in the end, the orders for this meet had come from the Rogue himself. She would trust in that. Carefully, she handed over a slip of folded paper. She’d tried to look at it, but it had been carefully sealed. And what did he mean by stolen fealty markers? Her skin was unblemished, and last she’d heard, you couldn’t remove, never mind fake, one.

He picked it up, and vanished it into a pocket. In returning handing her a small data reader. She was careful not to touch his gloved fingers.

“That should contain what you need. It only has three viewings though, so be careful.”

Her eyes snapped to his face, her hand coiling around the drive protectively. “That wasn’t the deal.” How were they meant to plan and execute the mission on three viewings. That meant the wouldn’t have a chance to verify the plans. They’d have to take them on faith. Faith she didn’t have.

“I promised you the plans,” Her contact answered her furious, panicked, declaration calmly. “ I didn’t promise you them forever.”

He rose to his feet before she could pull herself back together properly. She was trying to work out how to phrase this to command when his hand clamped roughly around her arm.

“This, I’ll give you for free. I’ll wear the Red the day your commander, when the Rogue, asks me to.” Her mind went still. _Asked?_ ”Have a good day, miss.”

She didn’t move for a good few minutes, her mind in shock. He had been insulted. She realised finally. Something about the Red Band, the symbol of the Rebellion, insulted him. She rose to her feet, and moved numbly through the crowd. She’d never thought about it before, never questioned. The Band was so much part of them these days. Ever since the Prince’s men had taking to wearing white, the Rogue had worn red. And they’d followed him. She never asked why he wore it, never wondered why it had started. Just followed along with everyone else.

She’d get to the bottom of it, she decided. It didn’t do to insult allies.

But later. When this mission was done. When the others were safe. When she had time.

Later. She promised.


End file.
